The day is not much like any other.The sun is hot, the sky is clear.And the people are gathered on a hillsidefor a crucifixion.I am among them.I hear the mocking cheers.And screams of horror.

I was there this morning. I saw them accuse Him.Witnessed the sentence,the whipping, the mocking,the spitting, and the carrying of the crossto this place of death.

I see Him now,see the twelve inch spikes.the falling hammers,the flowing blood.And hear the screams echo throughout the valleys.And yet no scream parts His lips.Through it all, He hasremained unmoved.Mocking the mockers with His silence.

They drop the cross into the hole.I hear the cracking of bones,and the cries and pleasfrom those around me.As He hangs there, I hear him speak to His brother, the other accused,And God.

As I look, His eyes meet mineand for one momentI see the pain, the love,the restraint within them.

And then I hear"It is finished."

And lightning splits thesky assunder.Thunder, rain and darknessfall like death angels.Washing the dirt fromHis wounds.Cleansing the filth from His body.

The others have left now.I stand alone.And as I pause beforethis one condemned,I realize His innocenceand my guilt.

The blood that mingles now,with mud and rain,cleansing the world of its sins,was shed for millions He never knew.He died for me.

And as I lookto find my path downthe dark, lonely hill,I shed a single, burning tear.And then without a sound,I turn and slowly walk away.

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Fading days of blue rush past your eyes.

Is e iomram an droch latha a ně latha math gu iomram.Practice rowing in a rough sea and soon the rough sea will seem calm to you.